


i can't (i could) live like this forever

by swimthewholeriogrande



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Ableist Language, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Era, Chronic Pain, Fluff, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, these boys love each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: Crutchie watches Jack fall, and then he watches Jack learn to live like Crutchie does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'live like this' from tuck everlasting

Really, Crutchie was there at the beginning.

He was the one with Jack when Jack held his arms out like a bird on the edge of the fire escape, laughing giddily. He'd jumped down from there a million times - he did it every morning - but this time when Crutchie saw him tense to leap, he felt his heart rush up into his throat.

Safe on the ground Crutchie thought, this is not right, and then Jack jumped.

Crutchie remembered it in flashes: the way Jack's right leg buckled senselessly as soon as it hit the pavement; Jack's white hot screech, the resulting ring in Crutchie's ears; the wet glint of the bone in Jack's ankle, shattered clean under his weight. He remembered screaming for help, unable to carry Jack himself with his stupid leg, but knowing all the same that nothing in the mortal world could put this back together. 

No. This was a singular, sticking point in time, and nothing would be the same as before the jump again.


	2. Chapter 2

At first Crutchie thought there was no sound worse than Jack in pain. Even in Spec's strong arms, rushing through the streets so fast to the hospital that Crutchie could barely catch up, Jack moaned and keened with every movement; Crutchie would never forget the ribbon of blood spooling endlessly to the ground from Jack's foot. His ankle was a horror scene.

But then they got there and the worst sound was hearing the doctors turn them away. Jack's howling and the frantic babbling of fifteen newsies turned the waiting room into a maelstrom of activity, and Crutchie had barely stuttered out an explanation before they were being firmly shepherded towards the door.

"Ain't he got the right to be cared for?" Race's voice rose over Jack's animal grunts of pain. "We got money, we can pay!"

"Not likely," the head nurse sneered, and they were outside again. Specs turned in a circle, shoulders shaking with Jack's sprawling weight, like he was looking for another hospital, another chance.

"He'll get a fection." Albert said solemnly, amd the younger boys' eyes went wide with fear. Crutchie leaned so heavily on his crutch he thought it might snap. 

"Put 'im down." he ordered, desperately needing to regain control. When Specs' did, Crutchie lowered himself to a kneeling position despite his knee aching in protest, and spread his hands out above Jack's leg.

Jack shivered and groaned heavily. His eyes slitted open. "Hurts." he growled. "Wha' happened?"

"Don't look, Jackie." Crutchie said as calmly as he could, and with one stiff pull he jerked the two splintered ends of Jack's bone back into place. 

Jack's eyes rolled back into his head. Specs yelped, cracking his knuckles anxiously, and Crutchie tried to to vomit. All he could see was Jack when they first met, on the cusp of his teenage years, so young and carefree without any responsibilities; and now he was hurt and most likely as crippled as Crutchie was. 

Swallowing hard, Crutchie bit back his sick nostalgia and took off his vest. He bound Jack's ankle, knowing it was filthy and they'd need to clean it but also knowing that if Jack bled out none of that would matter. On the black wet steps of the hospital the newsies stood in a huddled mass watching Crutchie work and pray, until Jack's leg was wrapped tightly and tied off with twine. His shoe had fallen off somewhere along the way and his toes were dirty brown like a child after playing in the street.

Specs hefted Jack into his arms again, head lolling. "Let's take him to the convent." he said grimly. "These bastards won't help."

Common fury swept through all of them; Crutchie felt like trash, like filth, like Jack meant nothing to anyone in the world but him when he really meant everything. The anger simmered between all of them as they headed towards the nuns' residence; it felt like the longest walk ever, and they all knew that when they got there all they might end up with for their troubles was a lecture.

Thankfully, mercifully, the convent let them in - they had a nurse for the older nuns, and she shook her head when she saw Jack's ankle. He'd woken up by that point, and seeing her saddened expression made him look quickly down at the exposed bone for the first time.

And the silence, the lack of expression of pain as Jack shook and shook and shook, was truly the worst sound of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you enjoyed, thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Jack's ankle, although unbloodied and scarring as it healed, had a certain set to it that Crutchie just recognised immediately. The nuns had cleaned it, bound it and given Jack a narrow cot in the cellar to heal - Crutchie shared it with him, since he'd always been the nuns' favourite, holding Jack as he slipped in and out of pained fits of sleep - but there was something off about the injury to Crutchie's practised eye. Jack's foot jutted strangely inwards, the side of his toes almost a right angle to his leg, and the inch of his shin visible over the bandaging was mottled and lumpy; he was in immense pain. No one had had the heart to tell him he'd never put weight on it again.

It was only the night when the nuns told them Jack could leave the next day that Crutchie knew he had to explain the damage. Jack seemed to only have some basic knowledge of what had happened; he knew he'd landed wrong and broken his ankle, but Crutchie knew that taking off the binding - showing Jack the devastation and explaining - would crack his grasp on the situation in half. His own bad leg ached in tandem like an unlucky twin. 

"Jack, pal," he started slowly late that evening, fingering his initials carved into his crutch, "it was a real bad break."

"I know, it hurts like a bitch." Jack grumbled, but his eyes were bright. He was looking forward to going home and seeing his boys, to be the one taking care of others and not the other way around, and a genuine love for Jack made Crutchie's chest tighten. He didn't deserve this. 

"No, Jack." He fumbled for words, wishing he had Davey's articulation or Race's quick tongue. "I mean, it got real messed up, and the inside's still messed up."

Jack's slight smile started to fail. "What do you mean?" There was a high note of fear behind his voice.

Crutchie felt his eyes go hot, his nose itch. "I mean I don't think it's gonna get fully better." 

A cramp seized his knee suddenly, the worst of timing, and he winced. Before he could attend to it, Jack's strong hands started to massage the twitching muscle. With his head bent, Crutchie couldn't see Jack's face, and he thought maybe that was the point.

The king of Manhattan, hurt and filthy on a convent bed, let out a rough cough that sounded too much like a sob for comfort. '"Just come out with it." he half-growled, and Crutchie shut his eyes; he saw redness and blackness and his own sick pity.

"I think you - you're like me, now." 

Jack's hands faltered and this time the sob was just a sob. Crutchie reached out and pulled the taller boy to him, knowing the fury and terror of learning you'd never walk unaided - he remembered being seven, raging with polio, watching his leg waste away like it was a separate entity only connected to him by pain and muscle spasms. 

He let his crutch fall and held Jack as tight as he could, making promises and apologies, knowing it would not be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you're enjoying the fic, thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

One of the hardest things by far was getting Jack home; it wasn't like there was a spare crutch lying around, and Crutchie was loathe to give his own because then he'd be stranded too - which wouldn't help anyone. Jack also refused to be carried, the same limited pride that Crutchie possessed seemingly already rooted in him. Instead, Specs and Albert had to come down and put Jack's arms around their shoulders to support him - by the time they got back to the lodging house, Jack's face was gleaming with sweat. He lurched, uneven, with every step.

And then there came in the next problem; the rest of the newsies. Seeing their fearless leader hobble and wince into the common room, looking ten times older than he ever had before, killed the conversation flat. Race, who'd been acting as the leader as Jack's second, stood up quickly.

"Real good to see you home, Jackie." he offered, sounding a little nervous. No one seemed to know what to say; it was quiet for a moment.

Jack, now leaning heavily on a two-by-four they'd found along the way, was emotionless outwardly but Crutchie knew his mind was racing. You couldn't lead a band of rowdy, lawless teenage boys when you couldn't keep up with them - Crutchie knew that he would've been Jack's second long ago if it wasn't for his own bum leg. No one was gonna tell Jack that - it wasn't anyone's place - but - 

"M'stepping down." Jack said roughly, taking the bullet before it was fired. There was a roar of discontent, and Crutchie's heart ached, but Jack just shook his head. 

"You's know this wouldn't work. I don't want no pity." His eyes were fierce. "I ain't leaving, alright? Just handing the reins to Racer."

Racetrack took off his hat and scrunched it in his hands. "You's the boss." he said firmly. "I don't mind doing the heavy lifting, but - you is in charge, Jackie. Always will be."

Jack swayed, looking exhausted, and relented with a single nod of his head; being the brains of a king was surely better than not being one at all. Without another word he started towards one of the bunkrooms, and Crutchie followed.

For once in his life Crutchie was the fast one. Jack was clumsy and slow with the plank of wood. "We'll get you a proper crutch, pal," Crutchie promised, hovering in confused worry.

Jack just flopped down on the bunk with a defeated manner. "They don't know what they's talking about." he said, face grim and tired. "I can't do shit now." 

Crutchie felt pain lit up dully in his heart. "You saying I can't do shit either?" he asked. "Saying I couldn't ever? Just cause I don't walk so good?"

Jack looked guilty now. "Ah, no, Crutchie, I didn't mean -"

"You's always believed in me, Jack. You's always said that I could do anything I wanted and it didn't matter what I looked like or what other people thought." Crutchie fumbled for Jack's hands and squeezed it tight as he could, fierce love in every vein. "You gotta do the same for yourself, now."

Jack's fingers twitched and pulled against his, flighty and failing, and Crutchie tried to ignore the pulse of electricity that followed. Jack's eyes rolled to Crutchie's - the gaze of an bereft animal - and he said, uneasy and hurting, "I don't know how t'do this, pal." 

"That's what you have me for." was all Crutchie said, and they sat in razor-sharp silence, pain beating through their injured legs in tandem.


End file.
